


With Smiling Cheek

by Corycides



Series: 100 Fics in 100 Days [7]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: 100 Fics in 100 Days, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Uncle-Niece incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:30:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles Matheson had always had a talent for killing, but none at all for being good. Prompt: Dark Side</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Smiling Cheek

It was supposed to be better – this time. Not like the militia which had been tainted at the root (although Miles still couldn't seen when it had gone wrong, when Bass' brilliant, mad smile had just gone mad). This would be pure and righteous, he wouldn't seek power or position. Just get the job done, like saving Danny.

Miles resolve lasted two months, before his commander's incompetence drove him to flout his orders, take over the squad and do it right. Afterwards, feeling the smug well of sex/delight/satiation as the men roared his name, he knew it would have been better if he'd just fucked it up royally and ended in the stocks.

He was good at war, though. The one thing in his life he didn't seem able to piss away. So he did it again, and again, turning skirmish, brawl and battle to the rebellions advantage. No one called him General, they had enough sense to avoid that, but they didn't argue with him either.

They didn't always win. Bass was good at war too. Sometimes, scowling over maps and troop deployments, Miles wondered if Bass enjoyed this as much as him. It felt like they were friends again, kids playing war games with plastic soldiers and stick guns. 

He went to Charlie for the first time after the Battle of Amherst, still clotted with blood and smoke and death. Bass had been there, roaring orders from the back of a horse, and the sheer glee of it all had nearly choked Miles. He'd turned the field to blood and mud, sucking at his feet as he fought, but when he came face to face with Jeremy he choked. They stared at each other, faces caked with mud like masks, and then shrugged and went to kill someone else.

It was late when he got back and she was dozing on a cot in his tent, hand tucked under her cheek and frowning in her sleep like she knew it had gone wrong. He crawled into bed with her and shoved up the shirt she wore in bed up, tucking cold fingers between her warm thighs. She'd gasped awake and tried to elbow him in the face before she knew who he was. Good girl. 

Once she recognised him her face flushed, hot enough to feel in the shadows, and pushed at him, hissing that he was in the wrong bed, that it was her and was he drunk?

He nuzzled the scent of her throat, finding the jump of her pulse and catching it between his teeth. 'I need you, Charlie,' he whispered, voice rough and scraping from battle. 'I need you to remind me I'm good now.'

His fingers brushed the soft curls that covered her sex, finger tips sliding over the wet, tender folds of her. She sucked a ragged breath, almost a sob, and shoved him away.

'Get off me,' she hissed. 'You're drunk. In the morning...just get off.'

Miles went, stumbling over to collapse onto his cot. He yanked his belt off and wrapped a callused palm around his cock, sucking the taste of Charlie off his fingers as he pumped his shaft. The short, raw pants of him and the creak of the bed filled the tent as he bucked his hips up into his fist. 

He thought of her in that dress and dripping wet after getting away from Strausser, the wild smile of her face as she saw him at the factory and the slight weight of her in his arms as he begged her to wake up. He thought of her naked, lean and tight, straddling his thighs, her hair curling over his thighs and her mouth hot and not-clever around his cock, the flex of nails against his ass as he fucked her.  
When he came, wet and sticky over his fingers, he was vaguely aware of the muffled sounds of Charlie sobbing in the dark, her hands pressed against her mouth.

In the morning they didn't talk about it, but that night she slept in Danny's tent. The thought of them drifted through Miles mind, vulnerable mouths and big blue eyes under thick blonde hair. But it was the old Miles who'd have shared them with Bass, who'd have enjoyed their humiliated acquiescence. 

That wasn't who he was, not any more. 

Two days later he packed his bag and buckled on his sword, claiming he needed to scout the Republic's line. Charlie caught up with him as he slung the pack over a skittish paint's withers and buckled it in place. She stood at the cobbled together fence, twisting her hands around the rough wood. 

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'Scouting.'

'You'll come back?' 

He grunted and watched her face crumple out of the corner of his eye. Tears made her eyes almost impossibly beautiful, liquid as the sea. 'Miles, please, you're family.'

So he had to stay. So he couldn't be what he wanted to her. So he had to deal with that.

'I can't,' he said. 'I can't be good for them, Charlie. It's too hard. If we're going to win, I have to be the person I was and that person doesn't want to be here.'

She blinked, a tear running down her face. 'You want to be with Monroe.'

He tethered the horse and went over to Charlie, wiping the tear off her cheek with his thumb. She twisted her mouth and looked away from him.

'I'm not good alone, Charlie,' he said. 'Never have been. So I'll go, find somewhere no-one knows who I am and just keep my head down.'

'You'll be alone there.'

'No temptation,' he said. 'I'm just not strong enough to be good on my own.'

It was the truth, it was just the truth that would get him what he wanted – needed. That didn't make it a lie. He hated maths, but it was a simple equation. Without him, the rebels would lose (everyone knew that); without Charlie, he'd leave (Charlie knew that). 

'Stay,' she said. 'Please?'

That night she didn't push him away when he crawled into her bed. He kissed her bare skin, licking the taste of her from between her breasts and the cup of her hipbone, and traced patterns on her skin with rough, callused fingers. His cock pressed hard against her thigh, hot and insistent, but he waited under her body relaxed into his touch.

Charlie squirmed on the cot, biting her lip, and her breath hissed in and out of her throat. Her knee bent and she rolled her hips in an aching thrust. When Miles pressed a finger inside her she was wet and tight. He worked her wider with his fingers, slow measured strokes making her pant and want.

Skin flushed and glowing, her breasts taut and topped with tight, pink nipples, she was beautiful. 'So beautiful, Charlie,' he told her, mouthing the words into her breast. He sucked the nipple into his mouth, scraping it with his teeth. Her body fluttered tight around his fingers, squeezing down on them. 'I'll be good for you, I'll help the rebels win. Just love me and I'll do whatever you want.'

She tangled her fingers in his hair. 'I do, I love you, Miles,' she whispered raggedly.

He swung his leg over hers, straddling her, and took his cock in his hand. She flushed, colour crawling up through her breasts and throat into her face, and looked away, closing her eyes. He let her, grabbing her thighs to tilt her hips up.

Tremors ran through the lean muscles of her thighs and the folds of her sex were wet and glistening. Miles nudged the head of his cock against her, watching her breath hitch at the contact. He buried himself in with a single, hard thrust, jarring her body and making her gasp.

He fucked her roughly, control worn down to a thread, driving her down against the think mattress. She raised her knees and clutched his shoulders, digging her nails in, as she mouthed his name like a prayer. Reaching down he rubbed his finger roughly over her clit, scraping a callused fingertip over it in counterpoint to each grunting thrust.

A whimper escaped her and Miles dropped his head to mouth her nipples. Dark hair trailed over the pale, untanned skin of her breast and she came at the tug of his teeth on her breast. Her body twisted around him, tugging on his cock, and shudders ran through her pleasure-tight muscles.

'See?' he said. 'You need me too, don't you?'

He pulled out of her, rising up on his knees, and grabbed his slick cock. Two jerks, his hand familiar with the tricks to bring himself off quickly, and he emptied himself over her stomach. Her stomach twitched at the contact and she went to wipe it off. Miles stopped her, grabbing her hands.

'Leave it,' he told her.

'I..don't want to,' she said, staring at his ear. Her face was still pink, the flush of passion giving way to shame and embarrassment. 'Let me get up, Miles? Please.'

He kissed her arm first, trailing his tongue over the hard, raised ridge of her brand. His mark as much as it was Monroe's. They'd flipped coins to see whose name went on the Republic. Charlie flinched and tried to pull away from him. This time he let her.

People noticed. People whispered. No-one said anything directly to Miles, except Rachel. She dragged him into her tent and yelled him, called him a pervert and asked what Ben would think.

'How well do you think you'd do,' he asked quietly, 'if people knew you weren't just the woman who turned on the lights; you were the one turned them off?'


End file.
